


Stop and Stare

by boyslushie



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Arguments, Comfort, Crying, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flirting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Late Nights, M/M, Masturbation, Mostly Canon Compliant, Mutual Pining, New Beginnings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Regrets, Separation, Slow Burn, Smut, Temple of Procreation, Trans Character, Trans Simmons, Yelling, cosmic coincidences
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-11 03:34:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11705967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boyslushie/pseuds/boyslushie
Summary: Simmons can't stop looking at Grif, and Grif can't get Simmons off his mind.(Takes place before and during Season 15).





	1. Workshop

“I totally saw you checking me out there, Simmons.” Grif smirked. Simmons blushed and turned away, despite having already been seen. 

“Was not!” Simmons yelped, continuing to face away from Grif. A smile spread over the shorter’s face as he watched Simmons tense up in denial. He took this chance himself to admire Simmons’ hair and frame, perfectly lit from the work lamp next to him. The cyborg was hunched over his work desk and continued piecing the broken battle rifle back together. Grif turned back to scrubbing down the Warthog. He dunked the dirty rag in the bucket only to find the very bottom to hold a thin layer of soapy water. He sighed, reluctantly wiping his oil and dirt covered hands on his tattered old tank top as he got up to go get more cleaning solution. 

As he passed by Simmons, he wiped his forearm across his brow casually and stretched in a way that simultaneously arched his back and flexed his arm muscles just enough to be visible. He snuck a glance back at Simmons, who was most certainly staring out of the corner of his eye, his attempt at being subtle broken by the fact that his cheeks were bright red. Grif chuckled quietly to himself and walked away, leaving Simmons alone with his thoughts for a few minutes. 

Simmons stared down at the disassembled gun in front of him and laid his chin in his hand, sighing in defeat. He’d kept his feelings under wraps for years, or so he had thought, but now that Grif was out of his armor more and more after the war had ended on Chorus, Simmons couldn’t help himself but to stare. Others had noticed too, and news was spreading amongst their teams after Simmons nearly passed out during training when Grif had lifted an impressively heavy weight in front of their squads, showing off what years of training and being at war could do for even somebody as lazy as Grif with extremely well toned muscles that had caused him to pretty much swoon. 

_Not_ that Simmons swooned over Grif, or anyone for that matter. The only reason he was so close to blacking out was overworking during that day’s training, of course. Definitely not from the sight of his tattoos shifting as his muscles flexed and bulged underneath his skin, arms completely exposed thanks to a loose orange tank top, his dark, curly hair sticking to the sweat on his face... Oh who was he kidding, he had it bad for Grif, and at this point not even _he_ could deny it, and he was the master of denying his emotions. Either way, he certainly wasn’t fooling Grif with his oh-so-convincing act of turning away every time Grif so much as glanced in his direction, and speaking with the squeakiest voice anyone had ever heard whenever Grif poked fun at him for it.

But if Grif knew, and all he did was tease him about it… That meant he probably didn’t reciprocate his feelings. Simmons laid his head down on the table and huffed. Why couldn’t he ever just get a direct answer? It would be easier if everyone could just be straight with him. Well… not everyone. He’d much rather Grif not be straight. And into men. Specifically him. For his sake.

Simmons bolted up again as soon as he heard the door start to click back open, screwdriver in one hand and the rifle in the other, pretending as if he were still working. Grif seemingly bought it and walked into the room, the bucket of soap solution swaying at his side as he walked back over to the nearly clean Warthog. He set it down and got back to work, diligently scraping off the caked on mud and dirt from their war zone adventures, friend rescuing escapades, and supply runs. Simmons was surprised Sarge had only just now had Grif wash the damn thing, it hadn’t been cleaned in nearly a year! He was also surprised that Grif was cleaning it so willingly, though there had been some very expected protest from the orange soldier, Simmons had never seen him give into doing chores so easily.

Simmons turned around in his chair, ready to strike up a conversation, but he hesitated as his eyes hovered over Grif’s many tattoos. A lot of them were so intricate, big swooping lines that all pulled together into one big picture, art etched into his own mismatched flesh. Simmons remembered how adverse he had been to Grif getting a tattoo on the arm that he had given up for him in the surgery, but he had learned to love it. He had practically memorized every inch of that tattoo, the inked replica of the waves of the ocean and beautiful flora so skillfully drawn into his skin. He sunk deeper into the chair comfortably as his eyes mapped the familiar lines. He hardly even noticed when Grif turned back to look at him, his face soft, a smile playing on his lips.

“Well, I definitely caught you this time.” Grif pointed out, though his tone was far from accusatory. Simmons let out a yawn, the long night of work and peaceful quiet atmosphere had been tugging him into a sleepy state for some time now. He shook his head. Not only had Grif caught him staring, but he needed to finish fixing this rifle before he could let himself go to bed. He quickly spun around and set himself back to work. It was like Grif’s laziness was rubbing off on him or something. 

Ten minutes later and he was well on his way to finishing up with the rifle, when Grif started to quietly hum a familiar melody. Simmons was prepared to turn around and ask him to stop so he could focus, but it hit him how nice this was, and how pretty Grif’s voice sounded, especially with the acoustics of their workshop. He instead kept working and working, trying to keep himself awake. Eventually, he held up the finished gun with pride, his human arm a little sore, but he was just glad his work for the night was over. He got up and stretched, joints popping back into place loudly and metal bits creaking and groaning in quiet contrast, about to gather his things and head back to their room. He stopped when he saw that Grif still had a short ways to go until the car was completely clean. Simmons instead decided to find another rag.

He wetted the small towel and quietly sat himself next to Grif, who was still humming softly. Grif smiled at Simmons, who’s glowing mechanic eye lit up the darker area of the shop where they were working with a soft green hue. Simmons started scrubbing a little ways away from where Grif was cleaning, and listened intently as the humming turned into words. After a little while of this, Simmons sleepily slumped forward a little, his focus hazy. Grif looked over, scanning the other's face, noticing the dark bags under his right eye. Grif softly patted the ground next to him, inviting Simmons to sit closer. Simmons accepted the offer, leaning against Grif’s sturdy shoulder. Grif didn’t protest, instead he just kept working. Eventually, Simmons dozed off, his lungs clicking and hissing mechanically in a steady breathing pattern that Grif could hear clearly in the silence. The Warthog was pretty much as clean as it was going to get. Grif wasn’t really one for work, but Simmons had been so sleep deprived and weird lately, he was glad he hadn’t left all the work to Simmons like he usually would. That and having him fall asleep on his shoulder was pretty nice, too.

Grif was careful as he lifted Simmons up and into his arms, cradling him. Simmons was much heavier than he looked, thanks to his cybernetic parts. It was also very difficult to hold someone this tall and lanky. Grif attempted to walk towards the door, causing Simmons to stir. He woke up confused and comfortable in Grif's arms, his brain not registering where he was for several moments. 

“G-Grif?” He asked sleepily, eyelids droopy. Grif stood there for a moment, just holding Simmons. He could almost feel Simmons heart beat faster as he figured out what was going on. But he didn’t say anything. Instead, Simmons blushed and stared up at Grif, eyes wide. He somehow managed to look anxious, puzzled, happy, and content all at once. If Grif didn't know any better, he'd think Simmons was waiting for him to make a move. If that was the case, he would never know, as he decided his best route would be to set Simmons down. 

He lowered him gently to his feet, helping him stand steady. Simmons gathered his things groggily and let Grif guide him down the halls back to their room, not bothering to question the hand that Grif had placed gently on his waist. It was a comforting touch, one that brought a blush to his cheeks and a small smile to his face.

When they got into the room, Simmons placed his things neatly on the desk and walked off into the bathroom to get clean. He walked back out of the tiny bathroom in loose boxers and a comfortable T-shirt. Grif didn’t have the heart to tell Simmons that the shirt he was wearing was backwards, he kept that little detail to himself and instead turned off the light before crawling into his own bed. 

“Goodnight, Dick.” He yawned. His only response was a soft snore. Grif smiled as he shut his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally doing an actual chapter fic for RvB, oh boy! I'm not sure how long this is going to be and I'm also not sure if it will stay canon compliant, it depends on how things go this season.
> 
> EDIT: for anyone reading this now, it's been a while!! I decided to go back and fix up previous chapters (including this one) before i added on anything new! The plot hasn't changed or anything, just fixing up some minor details, I hope you'll find it more enjoyable!


	2. A New Start To An Old Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group retires to the moon, things are looking up.

Grif wanted to ask. He wanted to talk to Simmons about his behavior, about the weird tension between them. Was he just seeing more than what was there or was there, or was there some actual romantic intention? He would’ve asked already, but the Reds and Blues had finally been granted a peaceful place to live without worry or bother, and they all needed to prepare and pack. In a few days time, they’d be leaving Chorus behind to settle down on their very own moon and just be away from it all. Together.

Grif couldn’t help that he was excited at the prospect of less people, less action, less rules and regulations. No more military, only close friends and relaxation. And Simmons. Especially Simmons. Alone, on an isolated moon, with Simmons. It wouldn’t quite be _Earth,_ but he could definitely make do.

He’d bring it up when they were settled in on the moon. Yeah, that’d work. Then there’d be less people around to mock them, no matter the outcome. Grif mulled over his half baked “plan” to confront his feelings as he gathered his things, packing them into crates, and his more personal items in bags. Simmons, of course, already had most of his packing done. It wasn’t surprising, most of the sim troopers didn’t exactly have much in the way of personal belongings. Simmons alone only took up one crate and two bags worth of stuff. 

Grif sighed as he lifted up the framed picture of all of them that they had taken a while back, after they took down the Director, and in turn, all of Project Freelancer. It was a nice picture, everyone was smiling, relieved mostly. His favorite part of the picture was Simmons and himself. The camera had went off at a perfect moment, Simmons smiling so genuinely and staring right at Grif, and Grif looking back at him with a deep fondness in his eyes. They had done something huge that day.

Simmons strutted casually into the room, and Grif gently packed the frame into a crate, setting it gently in between layers of clothes so it wouldn’t accidentally shatter on the trip. Simmons just gave him a glance and a small smile before he sat down on his own bed and pulled out his digital pad. He slid the stylus out of its holster and started writing, presumably. Grif pondered if he was keeping a digital diary, or maybe logs or some other nerdy shit.

“So, I guess we’re leaving this dusty old planet behind soon.” Grif said, his tone only a little sad. Simmons looked up and gave him a weak smile.

“Yeah, I guess it is for the best. I’m gonna miss it here though.” Simmons responded.

“You miss your squad already, don’t you?” Grif asked sympathetically. Simmons nodded, and Grif could see his smile falter. He sighed and gave Simmons a smile, opening his arms wide.

“Oh, come here you big nerd, everything's gonna be fine. The fighting is over, they're safe. _We're_ safe." Grif told him. _'You're safe.'_ ... That part went unsaid. Simmons looked like he was about to cry in all honesty. Grif felt bad for him. He was going to miss his team too, no matter how much he hated to admit it. He held Simmons tightly, rubbing gentle circles into his back. Simmons’ lungs clicked, wheezed, creaked and whirred as he cried quietly on Grif’s shoulder, clutching his back tightly. Grif was gentle and soft, reassuring him that it was going to be okay, they’d be done fighting and they could retire and have a good life now. Simmons nodded.

Everything was going to be alright.

\----------------

They had loaded everything onto the Pelican and were getting ready for liftoff. Grif and Simmons were seated together in the cockpit, oh how Donut and Tucker had a field day with that one, while the rest of the team sat in the passenger seating area, not even really needing to be strapped in for the smooth ride to the moon. Sarge kept grumbling about how _he_ should be the one in the cockpit, but how it would involve being in there alone with “the orange dirtbag”. But luckily for Grif, Simmons had called shotgun at the same time Grif had called dibs on being pilot.

They talked the whole ride there, both of them very excited about their new lives now that there was no war to fight, and what their new home would look like. Kimball had explained to them that it was very scenic, and that they had homes already built for them, bases and all. They’d be able to live out the rest of their lives comfortably and peacefully if they wished to, as thanks for their services on Chorus.

They eventually reached their destination, Simmons helped Grif land the Pelican safely on the moon’s surface, and everybody quickly piled out of the ship, taking off their helmets and breathing in the clean air, excited to be somewhere new, excited to start over, and excited to be doing it together.


	3. Neverending Vacation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that all the dust has settled, peaceful life takes a bit of adjusting to.

The soldiers spent several days moving in. They unpacked the ship and moved all their belongings into their respective bases, already having beautiful fully furnished rooms, neatly decorated and ready to be lived in. Simmons, for reasons he dare not dwell on, was a little disappointed that he and Grif would no longer be sharing a room, but he’d be right next door if he ever needed him. He wondered if they would still have those nights that they never talked about, laying in the same bed, looking out the open window at the night sky and talking about their lives. Those were Simmons’ favorite nights. 

The new bases were very relaxing though. There was air conditioning, and the beds were actually soft for once. Simmons could sit in his new arm chair comfortably and read through his novels without anyone bothering him, and Grif could be messy without bothering Simmons. The new setup was honestly a lot better, but Simmons couldn’t help but feel nostalgic. He slumped in his chair and buried his face in the soft fabric. He was already getting bored without all the action of war and rebuilding, but he had to admit, he was feeling a lot less high strung.

Next thing he knew he was being woken from a light nap by a knock on the door.

“Come in.” He said tiredly. Grif opened the door and Simmons eyes fluttered open behind his glasses.

“Oh, hey Grif.” He smiled. Grif walked in and leaned against his dresser, facing Simmons. "I bring news."

“So, it turns out they’re making a movie about us, back on Earth.” Grif said with a sly grin. Simmons’ eyes widened.

“Dude no way!” He gasped, Grif just nodded back.  
“That’s awesome! When’s it coming out?” Simmons prodded excitedly.

“In like a year, apparently we’ll be getting a pretty hefty paycheck ourselves since they have to buy the rights from us.” Grif said almost dreamily.

“Imagine how much food we’ll be able to buy with that much money.” He continued. Simmons laughed softly and shook his head with a smile. Grif smiled cheesily back.

“I guess we really do have something good going after all this time.” Simmons hummed. Grif nodded, arms stretched out comfortably behind him, keeping him propped upright. He looked so content, Simmons couldn’t help but stare. His features looked so relaxed, his eyes calm and a smile on his lips. He also had his long curly hair down instead of up in a bun for once. 

Simmons was so drawn in by his new demeanor, He didn’t even really think about why he was getting up from his chair until he had pulled Grif into a tight hug. Grif was hesitant at first, but after a few moments he reciprocated the hug, wrapping his strong arms around Simmons’ slender waist. Simmons sighed deeply, the full human contact of not wearing armor felt amazing. Grif smelled clean, like floral soap. It was truly wonderful, Simmons could really get used to this. _This_ is what being home felt like. He realized that they had been hugging for a pretty long time, and backed up a little, without entirely letting go.

“S-sorry, I… sorry.” Simmons apologized, flustered by his own actions.

“Don’t be sorry. That was… nice.” Grif admitted, blush tinting his cheeks ever so slightly. He smiled steadily, looking Simmons in the eyes with his arms still looped loosely around him. Simmons suddenly had a great idea.

“I- would you... I mean do you maybe wanna go for a swim in the river?” Simmons asked, a little nervous still. Grif laughed, more at ease than Simmons had ever seen him.

“Yeah dude, get your trunks on. I’ll meet you when you’re done.” Grif agreed, his hand lingering on Simmons’ hip. Simmons blushed, but didn’t call attention to it. They really needed to talk about this before the tension got too be too much.

\-----------------------------------------

Swimming was definitely nice. The cold bottle of whiskey Grif had brought out with them was even nicer. It was really great to just lay out in the sun with a cold drink shared between themselves, drying off from splashing around in the cold water. Grif was especially soaked after Simmons managed to push him under the waterfall. Simmons felt weird having his cybernetic parts submerged underwater, he was used to having to take them off, but the new ones that Dr. Grey had made for him were fortunately water safe. He was thankful to actually be able to go swimming for once. 

The warmth of alcohol in his stomach relaxed Simmons, helping him just unwind. He sighed loudly and turned his head to Grif. He gave Simmons a questioning look, he clearly had something to say, but right as he was about to say it, Donut ran right past them and jumped into the water. Simmons turned back to Grif with a concerned expression.

“I… didn’t see swim trunks.” Simmons grimaced. Grif pursed his lips in concern and sat up.

“Maybe we should go inside befo-” Grif was cut off by Caboose running in after him, carrying several pool floaties. He, luckily, was wearing his dark blue swim shorts. They silently decided that it was best just to go anyways. They gathered their things and went back inside. They opted instead to watch movies on Simmons’ bedroom floor. Grif fell asleep halfway through Toy Story 2, and Simmons decided to do the same. The floor felt comfortable when he was sleeping next to Grif anyways.

It didn’t feel real. It felt like a vacation, like it was all just temporary, the relaxation they were finally experiencing was fleeting and any minute they'd be thrust back into their usual routine with another battle to fight. Simmons pushed the thought away, choosing to dream up a life with Grif as he dozed off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is NSFW and pretty much skippable without affecting the plot.


	4. A Night to Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey so, warning! This is the NSFW chapter! It has no significance to the plot really, just an explanation for why I haven't brought up the incident with the Temple of Procreation yet! And an excuse to write smut I guess. Anyways, if smut isn't your thing, or if you're under 18, you can skip this chapter! It won't hinder the plot if you just continue on when i post the next chapter!

It all started when Simmons found an unnamed video file on his H.U.D. .

"Hey, Grif. Have you or Tucker been like... messing with my helmet or something?" Simmons asked during breakfast one morning.

"I don't know about Tucker, but I sure as hell haven't touched it. Why?" Grif asked, curious about what Simmons might have found.

"Well... I found some kind of unmarked video, and when i went to play it, it was really dark and-"

"Let me guess, one of Tucker's 'home movies'?" Grif asked. Simmons just nodded, rolling his eyes as he took another bite of the pancakes in front of him.

"You'd have to ask him yourself, I don't know how or why it would be on _your_ H.U.D. if its his. Are you sure you didn't just like... accidentally record y-" Simmons nearly screamed, his cheeks flushed a deep red.

"Grif! No! I did no such thing." Simmons defended, his voice now several octaves higher. Grif chuckled in return.

"I'm just saying, it's one explanation."

\-----------------------------------------

It wasn't Tucker's. As it turns out, Tucker had activated the Temple of Procreation while they were still on Chorus, and somehow, only he seemed to have remembered the events of that day. Great, so Simmons had lost his virginity and he didn't even know to who! Unless....

\---------------------------------------

That night, Simmons laid down in his bed and slipped on his helmet, activating his H.U.D. and scanning through his files until he found the one labeled "Unnamed.mov". He had only watched, or listened, he should say, to the video for a few moments before he had gotten to embarrassed and shut it off the first time. He was a bit surprised to find that the other person's voice sounded familiar. He shut his eyes and listened intently to the moaning and the sounds of skin on skin contact and clothes being thrown to the floor. This continued for a good minute, until he heard his breath hitch in the video, and a name that made his heart stop and his face flush red.

"Grif, please..."

Simmons continued to listen, now knowing just who it was he was in that room with. The memories came flooding back to him suddenly, his clit now straining for any kind of contact as he remembered the feeling of Grif inside of him, exploring his body with his tongue, _kissing him._ He quickly undid his pants, sliding them off of his legs and dumping them gracelessly on the floor. He shuddered as he stroked himself through his boxers, which accompanied his pants on the floor shortly after. He swiftly grabbed the tube of lube he kept in his nightstand drawer, uncapping it and pouring a generous amount on his fingers. He could hear the sounds of sex getting louder and more needy through his helmet, his own moans mixing in with the audio as he stroked himself, and slowly inserted two fingers, then three. He worked himself to near orgasm when he heard the clear sound of Grif coming. The sound sent him over the edge as the warm tension in his groin snapped, flooding him with relief. Involuntarily, he moaned Grif's name, much louder than he had expected. His metal hand flew up to his face to cover his mouth, only to be met with a loud and reverberating 'KLANG' when it collided with the metal plating of his helmet. The room went silent aside from his heavy breathing as he realized what he had just done.

Simmons rushed to put his pants back on and nearly threw his helmet before Grif was at his door, knocking only once before letting himself inside.

"Simmons? Is everything okay?" He asked, concern in his voice. He looked confused as Simmons just stood blankly in front of his bed, cheeks flushed.

"Uhm, yes? Everything is just fine." Simmons said, his voice higher than intended. Grif raised an eyebrow. All Simmons wanted to do was go wash his hands.

"Are you sure? You called my name. You sounded like you were in pain or something." Grif countered, suspicion clear in his voice.

"Oh no, I was just... Okay actually, you want the truth? I was just... Shocked." Simmons said, breath hitched. He wasn't going to tell Grif the whole truth, but he decided that Grif at least deserved to know about the video.

"Shocked? About what?" Grif questioned. Simmons grabbed his helmet, careful not to touch it with the parts of his hands that he had been... using, before.

"Remember that video that i thought was Tucker's? Well, it turns out I _did_ take that video. It also turns out that he activated the Temple of Procreation." Simmons explained. Grif still looked lost.

"Grif, when that blast hit, uhm, well... _we_ were locked in a room together." He saw Grif's eyes go wide before he turned tail and walked out of the room. Simmons watched him go without a word, worried and confused.

\----------------------------------

A week later, Grif finally talked to Simmons again. At this point, they just both kind of accepted that it had happened, but neither of them could look each other in the eye.

"So... I heard Sarge is trying to start a war with the Pelican." Grif tried. Simmons laughed, both out of amusement, an out of the sheer absurdity that after a week of not talking because they had banged without even knowing about it, this was his opening topic. He appreciated Grif's attempt to keep things normal.

"How's that going?"


	5. Something to Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disasters keep words out of Grif's mouth, it's too much to be a coincidence at this point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yandex is a better translator than Google!

Grif honestly tried to bring up the staring and the touching and the _whole unspoken feelings situation between them,_ but every time he tries, something bad always happens. Sarge declares a new enemy, Donut sets something on fire, Caboose nearly dies, Carolina manages to injure somebody, they discover goddamn dinosaurs! _There’s always something._ It’s almost inevitable. 

Simmons is very much aware of the sudden change in Grif’s behavior. He’s so much more irritable anymore, he always wants to go somewhere and do something, alone, with Simmons. He’s always trying to say _something,_ but he never gets the chance to say it. Disaster seemed to strike every time they hung out. For example. Grif had just shouted, very loudly, the same thing he had been trying to say the last ten times they had any alone time.

“Simmons I… wait hold up.” Grif began, having a sudden idea. He backed up a little. Simmons raised an eyebrow and watched as Grif took a deep breath.  
“SIMMONS, I WANTED TO AS-” Grif was suddenly cut off by an explosion and the sound of screaming. They both jumped, and Grif growled and kicked the dirt as Simmons ran towards the fire.

“God damnit!” Grif cursed, running after Simmons. 

The first thing he noticed was the smoke.

“Holy fuck… Is that…” Grif whispered. Simmons was visibly shaking, and Donut was in tears, clinging tightly to Caboose as Sarge berated him.

“I am so sorry, oh my god, I’m so sorry, this is horrible! I s-swear I didn’t mean to, Sarge!” Donut blubbered, hardly taking the time to breathe between sobs. Caboose hugged him tightly.

“It’s going to be okay, Lieutenant Biscuit! We’ll just make you a new base!” Caboose tried to reassure him. His only response was a series of sobs and incomprehensible words choked out through the tears. Sarge sighed defeatedly and turned to Grif and Simmons.

“Well, you heard the blue menace, let’s put out this blazing mess and get to building a new base of operations!” Sarge commanded. Simmons didn’t stop shaking, and Grif moved over to place a comforting hand on his back. Simmons leaned into the touch.

“B-but, Sir. All of our belongings were in there. How are w-” Simmons was cut off by Sarge pushing a crate full of random items towards him with his boot.

“I gathered everything I could.” Sarge said. Simmons immediately dug through the bin in front of him, pulling something out and quickly stuffing it into his pocket. He looked visibly relieved.

“We’ll get started right away, Sarge.” Simmons complied, suddenly alert. Grif rolled his eyes and tried to hide the relieved smile on his face as Simmons assumed his usual behavior, going into full on kiss-ass mode at the drop of a hat. First they had to put out the fire though, and god only knew how long that would take.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

They managed to get the fire put out in a matter of hours, salvaging whatever they could from the now smouldering building (luckily it didn’t burn all the way down, they actually managed to save quite a bit! Including three of the beds!) But building new bases wasn’t exactly going to plan.

“We could tear up the Pelican!” Sarge declared loudly. Simmons grimaced.

“Sir, if I may disagree. That’s an awful idea.” Simmons argued. “We could, on the other hand, use one of the caves!” Simmons offered.

“But Simmons, there could be snakes! Or, even worse… Bats.” Grif shivered. 

“Well what else have we got?!” Sarge yelled, throwing his hands up in the air.

Simmons gave him a thoughtful look.

“Why don’t we just… use the Pelican as it is? It’s got heating and everything!” Simmons proposed. Sarge thought about this for a few moments and slowly nodded.

“Yeah… Yeah! Great idea Simmons! We’ll move in immediately!” Sarge decided. Grif and Simmons looked at each other for a moment and shrugged, grabbing bins and dragging them inside.

\----------------------------------------------------------

They’d been living in the rather cramped space for almost two months when their first paycheck from the movie came in.

Grif spit out his drink.

“EIGHTEEN MILLION?! You’ve got to be fucking with me, we could buy new bases with that shit! Hell, we could make a fucking _water park_!” Grif exclaimed. Donut gasped and Grif knew he had made a mistake.

“Grif! That’s a great idea! I’ll go fill in the others!” Donut bubbled, skipping off towards Blue base, yelling to Caboose about the idea of a new water park. He could hear Tucker and Caboose cheering. Oh boy. 

\---------------------------------------------------------

They did end up building a water park, and getting themselves a new base. Donut took it upon himself to furnish the place, under the careful watch of everyone else on Red team. The rooms were a lot like the way they had been in Blood Gulch. Grif and Simmons shared a room, Sarge and Lopez shared the biggest one, and Donut got his own room where nobody else had to witness his obnoxiously vibrant decorating. The water park certainly spiced things up for them, it was much nicer being able to go to a nice clean pool with slides and no sharp rocks to cut your feet on. The only possible downside was Donut playing lifeguard.

Grif had long since stopped trying to bring up the situation with Simmons, it was just causing more harm than good. Clearly some cosmic being didn’t want him to know what was going on between them. Though, he had noticed Simmons was a little disheartened. He probably wanted to talk about it too, what a nerd. Maybe he should try again…

\----------------------------------------------------------------

Trying again proved to be an awful decision. Mid conversation, Donut and Sarge basically tag teamed the water park, and the whole thing ended up burned and collapsed. Well, not the pool part. But all the fun parts were reduced to flaming rubble. Needless to say, they didn’t get much further into the subject. Again. They tried to ban Sarge from the Warthog, but he kept pulling rank and threatening them with his shotgun. Even Carolina and Wash seemed to be losing their patience quicker than usual. 

On the bright side, their destructive antics and Caboose’s DIY robots that he had ordered kits of online had thus far kept the local wildlife at bay. They felt somewhat safe at least knowing their home wasn't going to be overrun with literal dinosaurs. Though their numbers were beginning to dwindle as the robots had been mercilessly killing the creatures. Grif couldn’t figure out if he should be deeply disturbed or thoroughly amazed at the loyal robots’ destructive power. 

Grif had also discovered that certain mushrooms on their moon were pretty much drugs on steroids. So of course, Grif had started using them. He also ended up slipping them into Simmons’ food once, which lead to some hilarious moments. Though, as soon as the high wore off and Simmons was able to stand again, he’d immediately berated Grif. At least he had the respect not to trick him twice.

Meanwhile, Simmons had somehow managed to entirely learn a dead language, which he would constantly use to his "advantage."

“Bonan matenon, Grif! Vi estas okuloj aspektas mirinda hodiaŭ! Ĉu vi bone dormis?” Simmons chirped from his bed where he was folding laundry. Grif sat up and rubbed his eyes.

“What… The fuck... Did you just say?” Grif asked, bewildered. Simmons laughed.

“I said was saying good morning. I finally learned Spanish! I’ve been working on it in secret for weeks!” Simmons said proudly. Grif chuckled, which quickly turned into full-blown laughter. Simmons gave him a confused glare.

“What?” He asked flatly. Grif had to calm himself from wheezing before he could actually respond.

“You- you idiot, that’s not Spanish! I have no idea _what_ that was, but it sure as hell wasn’t Spanish!” Grif cackled. Simmons’ face twisted into one of disapproval. 

“The language is called ‘Esperanto’ dumbass, you know, it’s Spanish for Spanish.” Simmons replied haughtily, earning more obnoxiously amused laughter from Grif.

“That’s ‘Español’ you cockbite! Ho _ly_ shit! You learned a fucking dead language! What a fucking nerd!” Grif continued to wheeze, almost doubled over. Simmons scowled and marched out of the room. 

“Jes, teni ridante vi peco de merdo.” Simmons complained, walking down the hall away from the sound of Grif’s gigglefest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this one was a whole hell of a lot less romantic, and the next chapter is gonna be preeeetty angsty. Or at least that's what I'm aiming for. I'm sure y'all know whats coming next anyways.


	6. Don't Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grif and Simmons part ways

Grif had been uncomfortable since the moment Dylan had arrived with Jax in tow. He could feel the inevitability of their next stupid intergalactic death trip, and frankly, he was out. He had already made up his mind, there was no way in hell he’d be going with them this time. He only hoped… that maybe Simmons would agree with him. He knew it wasn’t likely if his track record of kissing ass had anything to say about it, but damn it if he couldn’t dream. 

Dylan showed them the message from Church, and suddenly, despite Wash and Carolina’s utter disbelief, the room was buzzing with talk of a rescue.

He had absolutely called it.

“We have to find him! What if Church is _out there_ you guys?” Tucker worried. Grif shifted uncomfortably in his armor as the conversation turned to the Blues. Simmons noticed Grif's behavior with a sinking feeling. 

“You alright?” Simmons whispered to him over a closed radio connection. It startled Grif for a moment, but he answered back.

“Yeah, I’m good dude… it’s j- No, no. I’m… I’m fine.” Damn him for making him actually have to think twice about a permanent retirement from this stupid army. 

“... Okay.” Was the only response. The connection crackled for a few moments longer, as if Simmons was going to say something else, but he thought better of it and released the com button, letting the connection fizzle out. Grif felt a twinge in his gut.

 

\-------------------------

Grif helped them pack up the pelican reluctantly. It made him feel a little sick when he threw Simmons’ bags into the ship’s storage. Maybe he’d change his mind…

He helped Donut and Tucker pack the last few things, shoving them into the ship, before joining back up with everybody else.

“Alright guys, that looks like it. Are we good to go?” Simmons asked, holding a clipboard with the catalog of all their baggage. Donut nodded enthusiastically and Simmons made a few marks on the page before handing it off to Sarge. He looked it over for a moment and walked off. The rest of the group dispersed, leaving Grif and Simmons standing alone by the ship. Simmons turned to him, taking off his helmet.

Oh no, that meant he wanted to actually _talk_...

Grif took his off as well, albeit hesitantly. He averted his eyes when he saw the concern in Simmons’ expression. Simmons took a few steps closer, placing a gentle hand on Grif’s shoulder.

“Grif I… is everything okay? You’ve been really on edge since Dylan showed up, and…” _I’m worried about you._ “... Yeah.” Simmons finished awkwardly. Grif grimaced.

“Yeah I just… No actually. No I’m not fine.” Grif confessed. He looked into Simmons’ face, his first mistake. He had rarely ever seen Simmons look this upset. He felt it too, Grif guessed. Everything felt uneasy. Knowing he cared only made this worse.

“Simmons I’m not going. I can’t go with you guys. We were finally done, we did our part, and suddenly it’s back to armor. Back to Red and Blue. Back to hunting down dead friends who for some reason just can't stay dead. This goddamn war is supposed to be over for us and I… I can’t risk everything _again_ because of fucking Church.” Grif ranted. His eyes couldn’t meet Simmons’.

“Grif…” Simmons whispered, his other hand raising to touch Grif’s cheek instinctively. He didn’t know what to do.

“Simmons… Please don’t go with them.” Grif begged. Simmons tensed, the vulnerability in Grif’s voice was too much.

“B-but- I…” Simmons stammered. Grif raised his own hand, resting it on the back of Simmons’ gloved hand that rested on his cheek. Tears pricked at his eyes.

“Please.” Simmons pulled him in for a tight hug. It wasn’t perfect, Simmons would kill to be out of armor for this. He felt Grif bury his face in the crook of his neck. 

They stood like that for a while, until they heard Sarge calling for them in the distance. Simmons released his grip softly, pulling back, his hands still lingering on Grif indecisively.

“I’m sorry…” Simmons said, tears in his eyes as he put his helmet on and ran off towards the others, leaving a dejected Grif alone to sulk.

\-------------------------------------

Dylan somehow managed to find Grif hiding out in the caves, a mere twenty minutes before they intended to depart. Her attempt at a pep talk just caused Grif’s anger to bubble over, and he lost it, yelling at her about how she didn’t know the first thing about him, and that he hated everyone and everything and just wanted to be done. He even went as far as to insult Simmons, which nearly caused him to bite his tongue, but… she wasn’t the kind of person he was willing to be emotionally vulnerable around.

He stormed out of the cave, ready to give the rest of the Reds and Blues a piece of his mind. He stopped at a distance when he saw Simmons though. How was he going to confront this…

“Wheels up in ten, and remember… Oh! Look who’s finally graced us with his presence.” Wash greeted with a sarcastic tone. Grif brushed right past him.

“Grif! Where have you been, soldier?” Sarge demanded, glaring at Grif through his helmet.

“Thinking.” Grif responded, trying to keep emotion out of his voice. Simmons was shaking, he knew what was coming.

“Yeah right, thinking about food.” Simmons joked nervously. It didn’t help.

“No. I was actually thinking… I quit.” Grif admitted. 

“Quit what?” Simmons asked, close to tears. He definitely knew what was happening. He braced himself for what Grif was about to say. 

“You.”

\--------------------------

Grif watched the ships leave with a sad sigh, a dull ache in his chest. He didn’t even realize he was crying until he took off the helmet. He hoped he wouldn’t regret this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was going to be longer, oops.


	7. Reflect and Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simmons misses Grif. A lot.

They traced Epsilon’s message to an abandoned, ghost of a city. Everybody felt a little on edge, as they explored the ruins of the once populated city, searching for… something. Simmons scouted the place alongside everyone else, but he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering back to Grif. Was he going to be okay on his own? Was there enough food, water and other necessary resources on the moon for him? What if he accidentally got hurt, or worse?! They should go back. They should pack up right now and… Oh who was he trying to convince?

They wouldn’t be going back. He knew that. Not for him, not even for Grif.

\--------------------------------------------

“Ms. Dylan, we found something!” Simmons called from around the corner. Dylan made her way over to them, Jax and Tucker following close behind. He lead her over to a large satellite dish mounted to a complicated communications machine. She scanned the beacon, talking to Tucker about it while Simmons tried to force himself to pay attention, but his mind was pulling him in fifty different directions at once. Though, one thought made itself most prominent. Had he made the right choice?

“It’s a Bop-It.” Tucker stated loudly, gesturing to the toy that had clearly been used to modify the beacon. Simmons looked at it in confusion. Why would somebody be making complicated modifications to such high grade equipment out of a kids toy? Simmons finally had a thought that could actually contribute to the conversation.

“Can you still do that… trace thing? With your A.I.?” He asked, turning to Dylan. She nodded.

“Yep, same as before. It’ll take some time, though.” She replied. Simmons pondered for a second.

“And in the meantime…?”

“We’ll keep looking for clues.” Tucker said.

“Or… This place is pretty spooky! It would make a great filming location for a horror movie!” Jax offered.

“I have this idea for a movie about a really fat zombie, I’m calling it ‘Dead Weight’!” He continued. Simmons snorted.

“Ah, Grif, you would be- Oh… right.” Simmons started, his face suddenly dropping when he remembered that this time, Grif wasn’t there. His stomach twisted a little, an emptiness that caused him to feel a little nauseous. He could feel the stares of pity through the other’s helmets without even looking up. Luckily, Sarge interrupted, breaking the attention away from him, leaving him to simmer in his thoughts.

\---------------------------------------------------

Caboose was right. He really does talk about Grif a lot. He thinks about him a lot too. Their conversation from earlier rang through his head. "Even when we've been friends for years and years..." He mumbled. He had lied to Caboose. Snakes weren't his only fear, he was already facing his biggest fear. He shook his head abruptly and stared down at the controls in front of him, shifting uncomfortably in his chair as he tried to clear his head. He and Donut were piloting the Pelican for now, but with Donut seated at the main controls, Simmons had little to do and a lot to think about. He sighed heavily. He couldn’t deny the fact that he really did miss Grif. But, Grif had clearly stated that he hated them. All of them. It was fucking awful. He felt so guilty, so much regret. He should have been a better friend, been more open with his feelings, and he definitely should have taken less jabs at Grif. Maybe he should have even told him... he wanted more than that. Than friends.

Maybe this was all his fault, but how could Grif have forgotten all the good times too? They’d been friends since Basic. So many years full of so many good memories, and all it took was one stupid decision, the pull of “do what you're told to do, obey your commanding officer's orders” being apparently too strong to fight, to take that all away from him. Did Grif even miss him?

“Simmons… are you alright?” Donut asked softly. The gentleness in his voice made Simmons’ organic eye prick with tears. Grif was the only one who’d ever talked to him like that before, and hearing it from Donut made his heart sink.

“No… not really.” Simmons responded, hearing his voice crack with the threat of tears. He wasn’t really sure why he was being so open with _Donut_ of all people.

“You miss him, don’t you?” Donut asked with a sad smile. He turned to glance at Simmons, his expression saddened when he saw the look on Simmons’ face. Simmons nodded, whimpering quietly as he felt the tears fall. He quickly covered his face with his hands. Donut froze for a second, before scanning the horizon. His depth perception might suck thanks to his one blind eye, but he was still a decent pilot. When he was satisfied with their direction and a lack of obstruction, he turned on autopilot and got up, walking over to Simmons' seat. Simmons couldn’t look up as he heaved, his mechanical lungs clicking and whirring at odd intervals. Donut carefully wrapped his arms around Simmons, cradling him gently.

“It’s okay… I may not have known him the way you did, but I miss him too. I’m sure we’ll see him again. Life’s full of surprises.” Donut reassured him. Simmons listened, his breathing gradually evening out as the tears slowed to a stop. As Donut started to get up, he pulled him into a tight hug. Donut smiled.

“T-thanks, Donut. I know I haven’t been the nicest person… But you’re a good friend.” Simmons sniffed, trying to contain the rest of his tears.

“Of course, buddy.” Donut hummed, squeezing him tightly. He released himself from the hug and sat back down in the pilot seat. It was awkward, sure, but Simmons felt a lot better now. Maybe Grif would let him hug him like that when they get back. He hoped so.  
\----------------------------------------------------

They followed the signal to what was basically a replica Blood Gulch, but in the desert. Simmons’ gut knotted itself up as a sense of nostalgia and fear churned in his stomach. Memories of Blood Gulch that he could place clearly in this desolate canyon flooded his mind, Grif at the forefront of all of them. It was overwhelming, he felt like he would topple over, gasping for air. He felt dizzy. 

He jumped as Jax tapped him on the shoulder, the dull sensation reverberating through the metal of his armor. Everything felt like it was tilting.

“Simmons! Dylan wants to interview you, y’know, for the news story.” Jax explained. Simmons nodded, trying to shelve all of the old memories that had shaken themselves loose.

He followed Jax over to where Dylan was standing, away from the group. Jax turned on the cameras, Dylan asking the first round of questions. He sighed and started talking, hoping this would be over with soon.

\--------------------------------------------------------

“I thought you and Grif we’re friends?” Dylan asked curiously. Simmons scoffed.

“Us? No. Friends have things in common. Grif and I? We’re like completely different _species.”_ He replied incredulously. Of course he didn’t sound convincing, and he could tell by Dylan’s body language that she wasn’t buying it. Quickly, he had to embellish. 

“Seriously, I did a DNA test on him once, do you know how much pygmy sloth I found?” Simmons added. Suddenly he was interrupted by the rest of the group. 

“Dude, we need to get a closer look at this deja vu canyon. Hurry it up!” Tucker insisted. Simmons breathed a sigh of relief as Jax turned off the camera. 

“Be right there!”

\-------------------------------------------------------

Simmons felt weird, alone, in his own room, in an underwater base with literal doubles of himself and his friends. Well, not _all_ of his friends. Must be some sort of awful karma that even in an army of carbon copies of themselves, Simmons would find no Grif to confide in. This fucking sucked. His stomach growled and he sighed, turning in the bed and clutching the pillow. Something was definitely off about this place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you read this before, you might have seen a not here from about 11 months ago saying i was going to go back and work on this/rewrite stuff. well, i've done that! just later than intended!


End file.
